


Plan B... Aborted

by Macx



Series: Denuo [54]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>episode tag to Grave Danger with a Denuo twist. How do you deal with such an ordeal, even knowing you're a paranormal who mimicks a Phoenix?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan B... Aborted

It was a peaceful place, out here, in the middle of nowhere.

The heat of the day had made way for the cooler night. Darkness caressed the sand, the stones, the scraggly bushes. There were no lights of the city, no highways running past. Nothing disturbed this utter peace.

He sat on a blanket in the sand, gazing out over the darkness, feeling so much, experiencing it all. He was here, in this nothingness, alone with himself, totally oblivious of civilization, away from the pressure, away from well-meaning friends.

Just him and nature.

It felt incredible.

Part of him was aware that he wasn't utterly alone. There was a second presence, but it was guarding and gentle, non-invasive and very much keeping an eye on everything to keep his peace, to keep him safe.

Safe.

He smiled dimly to himself.

He didn't know what that was anymore. He didn't know what security meant. His whole world had been upset, turned upside down, been rearranged and turned out worse than it had been before.

A breeze brushed over the land and he inhaled deeply, smelling the desert, the life of it, the cool night.

Meditation had never been his thing. He had never tried it before. He had never needed it before. Peace had been something different before… Yes, before.

Before…

Before was two weeks ago and he was just now getting his life back together to face reality, to face his so worried friends on a daily basis, for more than an hour. Support had been endless, but not his patience.

//Voices.

Voices, muffled through the glass, the dirt, the stuff in his ears.

Voices.

Voices of… people he knew.

He choked out a cry as light hit him, as Warrick's voice yelled at him not to do it, to put the gun away. He sobbed with relief when the fire extinguisher hit his body, the chemical foam cool but still like needles on his skin.

His hands were against the lid, scrabbling.

Get me out, get me out, get me OUT!!

Oh pleasepleaseplease. Make it stop.

And they left.

Confusion and pain mixed into the rising panic and the relief was washed away.

No! Don't go? Warrick? Warrick!

And then he was there. Through tearing eyes he looked into the most familiar face of them all, felt the voice cut into his muddled thoughts, slice apart the panic and settle where it could be heard.

Hands touched, separated only by the glass lid.

Please… Gil, please… get me out. Please…

He sobbed uncontrollably, unashamed by his tears, his need, his vulnerability.

Please…oh please… Gil? Help?

*

He was disoriented, in pain. His skin itched, his muscles hurt, his arms and legs and shoulders and hips, his whole back… everything was a massive cramp. He felt bruised and battered, he felt eaten alive, he was hungry and thirsty.

And above all there were the tremors coursing through him.

He didn't remember much after the explosion had stunned him. He had been taken to the hospital, examined, fluids had been pumped into him, but he didn't feel better.  
People talked to him and he tried to read from their lips, stared at them, uncomprehending, wanted to ask where exactly he was, but no sound came out. There were familiar faces, familiar voices, cool, comforting touches, warm promises, then he was alone again.

He drifted off.

And came back to soft voices, someone holding his hand. He blinked into the light of the room, squinted, felt a headache and the still persisting pain of the bruises and the bites. He itched. He wanted to scratch his skin raw.

Gil…

The thought struck him. Where was Gil?

He remembered the face through the glass, the insistent voice, the voice that had taken his whole attention, riveted him to the movement of lips. He had heard the sounds, had read the words from his lover's mouth, and he had struggled with his panic and relief to follow orders.

 _< "I promise.">_

He had promised and he had obeyed.

Gil had saved him.

Where was he?

His eyes roved randomly across the room.

Gil?!

His hand twitched, remembering the death grip he had had on his partner, tears in his eyes, face screwed up in a grimace of pain and suffering and horror and need.

He had wanted to get out, but Gil had made him lie there, wait, be patient. He had promised. He had kept his promise.

Gil?

He didn't know if he had spoken out loud. There was movement, someone stroking carefully over his forehead, then he drifted off again.

*

Nick came to for real for the first time to the gloom of night, of only a few lights on in intensive care. He came around to the silent presence of a familiar person, of his lover's presence, and he made a soft noise. It was a whimper, a moan, a name, his need.

Grissom was with him instantly, looking older than he was, haggard, lines in his face, like he hadn't slept.

"Nick?" he whispered.

He smiled with relief and exhaustion. "Gil," he rasped.

His hand was taken, careful of the bites, and the blue eyes lit up with more life than before.

"You're safe. You're in the hospital. Everything's okay."

"Okay?" he echoed weakly.

"Yes. We've got you. I've got you."

His hand was squeezed and he barely managed to return it. "How… long…?"

"You've been here for a day. You slept a lot. The toxin from the fire ants wreaked havoc with your system, but you're getting better. Just relax, sleep, it'll do you good. You'll be fine."

"You…?"

Grissom smiled warmly. "I'm fine… now I'm fine."

A kiss was placed onto his chapped lips and Nick wished he had the strength to return it.

"Gil…"

So much he wanted to say, so much he needed to say. He couldn't. He was just too tired.

"I know, Nick. I know. I love you. Listen to your body and sleep and get well." His hair was stroked tenderly. "You'll be home soon."

Home.

Yes, home. Home was with Gil Grissom, in their shared house. Home… It made him smile.

He sighed softly. He wanted to be home.

With those thoughts he slipped off again.

* * *

The next time he was awake for much longer, but there was no Gil. His parents hovered around him. His mother was just… well, his mother. She cared and worried and fussed. She cross-examined the doctor and the nurses on her son's condition. His father was calmer on the outside, but Nick could see the worry in his eyes.

"I'm okay," he said softly, reassuring them both.

He was okay. He was out of that hole, he was back here, with his friends. He was free and the perp was dead.

Still, his mother fussed and bustled about, his sisters and brother called, and Nick wished he could leave.

Grissom stopped by after visiting hours, always when no one else was around, and by the third time Nick found out that he was in a hospital where the nurses and doctors knew he was a paranormal. It made him feel safe. It explained why Grissom could come by just like that and stay till he got on duty.

And it gave them the necessary privacy.

Fingers interlaced, touching… being who they were. Lovers. Life-partners.  
   
 

"I want to get out of here," Nick whispered plaintively.

Grissom stroked over his forearm, smiling. There was still exhaustion in the beloved features, but it was getting better. "You need to heal, Nick. You need to give your body some peace and quiet."

"Not here," he murmured. "I want to be home."

"Wait for the doctors to clear you."

Nick knew Grissom was right, but he hated this. He hated to be so dependent, to lay back and have people care about him. The itches were no longer so bad, the toxin was almost out of his system, and he didn't get any more rest in here than at work. Nurses insisted on checking up on him almost on the hour every hour. It was almost like Grand Central Station in here.

He sighed dejectedly.

Gil leaned forward and kissed him. "Soon," he promised.

"When?" Nick knew he sounded like a child.

"Soon," his lover repeated.

Lover. Life-partner. And then there were his parents. Neither of them knew who Gil Grissom really was. For them, he was the former super-visor and now a colleague. They had never been told. Somehow, Nick had never really gotten around to telling them about the huge changes in his life.

He sighed again.//  
   
 

Parents… his parents had meant well, but he had refused to go with them back home, to take a time out, maybe a months, maybe a year. He didn't need a time out. He didn't need to be away, because being away meant being cut off from everything that he needed to life, to survive. They didn't understand. He had tried to explain it, but they didn't grasp the extent of the separation they wanted to force on him.

In the end they had relented.

They had probably talked to Philip Kane, their resident psychologist. He had told him to be where he felt safe; and he felt safe here.

With his friends.

With his partner.

He exhaled slowly, centering himself. He had never needed to do that before. Within a few weeks he had learned how to find the calmness within him, though it had been tough.

Nightmares intervened.

Fear and terror and the horror of being there, buried alive. The pain of the bites, the pain of too much thinking, the pain of oxygen-starved lungs…

Shivers traveled through him, translating into fine tremors.

Around him, the air shifted, became warmer, gentle waves of reassurance protecting him from the terror that had made him wake up screaming for the first few days after coming home.

He smiled a little into the darkness, thanking the second presence without saying a word. He was glad he wasn't totally alone. It would probably have scared him more. He wasn't a loner. He needed people, even if he had pushed them away the first few days.

Even his life-partner; his lover; Gil Grissom.

The fear he had experienced inside that box had come from several angles.

Death. He had feared dying. Not because of death himself. No. Death itself would have been quick if he had truly used the gun, but he had hesitated even then. A shot in the head was irreversible, even for a Phoenix.

The true fear had been because of everything that was so much connected to him and his death. The method of it, even.

Nick Stokes was a Mimic. He was Mimicking a Phoenix. A Phoenix was close to immortal and recovered from almost any form of death. So, simply put, if he died, he would revive. No problem.

Big problem. Very big problem. His death would mean changes.

Most prominently physical ones.

Nick was thirty-four now and being a Phoenix meant he would go back to the time he had first started Mimicking the Phoenix, namely Gil Grissom. Mid-twenties.

Oh fun.

It would mean a very obvious physical change. It would mean he couldn’t just wake up, recovered, with people rescuing him. He would be different.

So if he stayed dead to the world, if he disappeared, so much more would change. Only a few people would ever know he hadn't truly died, and he would be forced to work with Plan B – going to Salt Lake City.

Nick sighed again.

And then there was the fact that dying so slowly, by suffocation, would probably leave its marks on him. Half eaten alive by fire ants, dehydrated, hungry, desperate… Being stabbed had left its marks on Grissom, though by now his lover had dealt with it.

Today had been the day he had driven out to prison to talk to Kelly Gordon. It had been a relief, a release and an end.

 _< "Don't take it with you.">_

Final advice, good advice, his own to take, too.

Don't take it with you. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He was stronger than that and he wouldn't be broken.

Not by this.

Not because of some mindless revenge game.

Not because he was a random victim.

Never.

Resolve coursed through him, pulsed through his soul.

He was alive, Nick thought. He was alive and well and recovering from the psychological effects this ordeal had had on him. He had loving help, friendly help, shamanic help.

His eyes sought out the presence not far away, sitting on the ground, patiently keeping watch. He was so grateful for the company, for the offer to help, and while he knew Grissom had wanted to be there for him, he couldn't be here for him now. This was something he had to deal with. This was his burden to bear and finally shake off when he was ready to let go.

When he had approached Conrad Ecklie about this kind of help, the rather new shaman had tried to refer him to Nandi. Nick liked Nandi, but he didn't trust her as much as he did this man. Ecklie was a CSI, had been there, knew more about the whole affair than Nick could ever tell the other shaman, and it was what he had told the man.

Ecklie had finally agreed.

So they had started to come out here, into the quiet, into the silence of the desert, and Nick had begun to work on finding a balance he had lost.

He was gaining it.

Slowly.

He was gaining it back.

Nick wouldn't lose to Kelly Gordon, or to fear, or to any kind of outside influence. He had a life he loved, he had a man he loved, he had friends.

He would survive.

* * *

 _< "I'll take the heat.">_

He watched his charge with eagle eyes, registering every breath, every shudder, every change in the damaged aura.

He had been taught how to actually see the paths magic was going, to watch it and observe it. Magic surrounded everything, especially living beings, and for those with trained eyes, it was visible like a halo, glittering in several different colors. The stronger the colors, the healthier the person.

Conrad Ecklie had shed the mantle of criminalist, Assistant Director and whatever else was connected to his job. He had immersed himself in what he had become two years ago – the shaman. He had learned a lot from Nandi, he had touched the power that Caine had accidentally transferred into him, the power that had changed him so profoundly, and he had used it for the very first time outside training purposes.

Nandi was out of town on shamanic business and Ecklie hadn't really thought about whether or not to help Nick. Even if she had been there, he would have claimed first responsibility for Nick's health. The young man was his protect as a shaman, as a friend and even as an AD. He had once told the very same to Catherine, that he would have their backs, and he meant it. Not just on the job; he was more than just a superior. He was a former ally and a shaman to boot.

 _< "I'll take the heat.">_

He had been ready to shoulder everything, to move heaven and earth to get the money, and he had been frustrated and had hit dead ends every step of the way.  
Las Vegas didn't negotiate with terrorists or any other criminal element. At that time, Ecklie hadn't cared. He couldn't have cared less who the kidnapper was, just get the money and pay the man for the safe return of one of his own.

His people, his responsibility.

He knew he would have the lab behind him, had talked to them, had seen their resolve. They would have gone along with cutting down overtime, with budget restrictions, just to get Nick home -- alive.

But bureaucrats were bureaucrats, and he had run into walls with his plans.

Ecklie had already done a lot to protect both Grissom and Nick in the past, had necessarily split up the team to allow them more freedom, keep them safe job-wise in case of discovery. He had intervened with Sara, and was still doing so. He kept an eye out when it came to the brass around him, alert to whether or not Sidle would really pass him by and seek another high level employee of the county or state to make her case know. Jealousy was a huge motivator to ruin your own career along with someone else's.

He had been unable to do much here, with this crisis. He had the power, but there was always someone more powerful than him. That moment, when he had been told to stand down, to scrap his plans, he had never been more ready to become violent.

But they had Nick back. No thanks to him. What counted was that Nick was alive.

Nick's request for help had surprised him at first, caught him off guard, since he had thought Stokes would turn to his life-partner, but one look at the devastated aura of Gil Grissom had told Conrad enough. Grissom needed just as much help as his younger lover. He was damaged, showing gray holes in an otherwise rather stable aura, and with time, and Nick's healing, Grissom would heal, too.  
   
 

//"You know what you're asking for?" Ecklie asked calmly.

Nick inhaled deeply, then nodded.

"I don't think so."

Dark eyes, filled with pain and nightmares of the last few days, regarded him with open confusion.

"You don't know what it means for a shaman to help healing, Nick."

"Uhm… I… no," he finally said, voice small.

"Why did you come to me in the first place?" Ecklie wanted to know, eyes on the sickly gray aura, on the young man who had gone through so much in just fifteen hours.

"I trust you. You know about me and Gil and what we are… and my instincts tell me that you can help."

"You have help already. Dr. Kane."

"He doesn't know about a lot of things."

"What you tell him is confidential. About yourself, Gil, both of you," Conrad told him, voice reasonable and still calm.

"This is more than what happened to me, Conrad. It's about my connection to Gil, about us being paranormals, about what could have happened if I had… died." He swallowed. "Everything would have changed."

"You want to talk about what's on your mind." It wasn't even a question.

A nod.

"But you also want help healing?"

Another nod. "I know about shamans a little," Nick said, voice stronger. "I know you can see how messed up I am. You mentioned the auras before, that they are driving you crazy and all."

Yes, Ecklie had. In the past two years as a shaman, both Grissom and Nick had gone through ups and downs with him in his new condition. They probably knew more about shamans than any other paranormal out there.

"I know that to heal, I need my balance back. My instincts led me here, Conrad. I trust you. Please help me." It was a silent plea.

"Do you know what it involves?"

"Not really, no. Just what you told us."

Ecklie nodded and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, gazing at the younger man. "Nick, to heal the aura I need to touch it. Physically touch it. You need to let me closer than all the times before. You need to let me in."

He swallowed again.

"You need to extend your trust to a level that involves your very being," the shaman went on, voice low but firm.

"H-how close?"

"As close as Gil."

The chocolate depth reflected Nick's inner turmoil.

"I won't pressure you, Nick," Conrad added.

"You… what will you do?"

"Touch you. I need to touch your aura. It doesn't require a physical contact, but it's as good as one. It will be personal. You have to be able to stand me touching you, Nick."

Nick was visibly fighting with himself, then he finally nodded. "Okay. I trust you, Conrad. I do."//  
   
 

So they had begun.

At first it had been slow, careful, Nick talking and Ecklie listening. He had left the criminalist at home with the superior, and he had tapped into what made him a paranormal. Nick was still talking to the psychologist in the precinct, he was getting therapy, but some things could not be told.

Healing an aura was hard work. He had begun to work by instinct, let the powers guide him in what he did, and he had been so very carefully and sensitive when it came to Nick Stokes.

Ecklie hadn't lied when he had said he needed to be close. The aura extended just a little over the skin of the human body and he had to touch it to heal it, to let his powers influence the shape and strength and health of it.

Their first session had been on safe ground, in Nick and Gil's home, but Grissom hadn't been present. Ecklie had requested it. He needed the first few times without a watcher who might interrupt or disturb him.  
   
 

//Sitting on the ground, on the rug of the living room, Nick drew a shuddering breath. His eyes reflected his mixed feelings and the unanimously gray aura fluctuated wildly.

"Nick," Conrad soothed him, his voice soft and gentle and laced with his shamanic power. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to really touch you. Relax."

Nick nodded, trembling a little, and his hands were clenched into his knees. "Okay," he breathed.

Ecklie extended one arm, palm flat, and stopped just shy of touching the t-shirt clad chest. He felt the sickly aura against his palm, felt it tickle his senses, and he felt Nick's racing heart, his wild emotions, his confusion and fear and and and…

The shamanic powers reacted almost instinctively to the fear, reached out and wrapped themselves around the frightened soul that had been through so much. He soothed it, shushed it, surrounded it with his own shields to give it the necessary safety and peace.

Conrad almost felt it physically the moment Nick relaxed. It was like a huge sigh going through the room and he smiled a little.

"Conrad…?" Nick breathed in surprise and wonder.

"How do you feel?"

"Uhm… I… wow…"

"Sit back, relax, let me work," he just advised the dumbstruck Mimic.

"Okay…"

At the end of the session Nick was almost asleep, completely relaxed and totally limp. Ecklie smiled, proud and satisfied of his work.

It was their first time.

He extended the healing after the third time, adding a second hand to the first touching Nick's aura. One over the heart, one just an inch off his face. Staying still, breathing, letting Nick breathe, helping him sink into a place where he could rest and recover and recharge his batteries, so to speak.

They began a routine session and after a while he let Grissom take part – mainly because the other man was almost frantic, at least on the inside, with the need to help.

"Don't interfere, Gil. Whatever happens, don't interfere," he said seriously, voice hard. "This might be strange, it might be painful, it might be too personal for you, but you need to understand that this is the way it works."

Grissom's blue eyes had been steady when he had nodded. "I understand."

He did, of course. He was a man who researched and who knew. But seeing the actual healing, seeing someone who wasn't himself touch Nick like this, it had to be painful.

And it was, but Grissom persevered.//  
   
 

Grissom was very much protective, and it didn't just reflect in their daily interaction. The phoenix, the spirit animal, had latched onto the weak raven, was fiercely guarding the small, black bird, and Ecklie had smiled the first time he had seen the new bonds himself.

It had been a horrifying ordeal.

It had been a nightmare.

And they had to get out of this intact.

Nick's aura shifted a little, trembling, and he checked in on him without moving. Everything was still within acceptable levels and part of the shaman reached out to reassure the Mimic that he was safe.

The distance was proving no problem now when it came to reassuring Nick that things were fine. Their prolonged contact on the spiritual level had paved a way for the shaman to touch his charge without needing to be so intimately close to Nick – at least when he wasn't actively healing. Ecklie could reach out and calm Nick's frazzled aura whenever it spiked, and whenever he needed it. Sometimes spikes were just necessary emotional outbursts.

This place here, so far away from the city and everything that could be called civilization, was one of Conrad's favorite spots. He had come out here to train, to meditate, to just be alone and listen to what was inside him. It sounded ludicrous, but it worked just fine. Only here did he have the balance to try out what could wreak havoc in an enclosed environment otherwise. Shamans were very close to nature, and this was as close to nature as he could get in Las Vegas.

Nick moved and Conrad's attention focused on his charge. Nick was getting to his feet, dusting off his pants, and began to walk over to where he sat.

"I'm ready to go home," he said softly.

Ecklie rose fluidly, nodding. Without another word they gathered the blankets and walked back to the Tahoe. Ecklie took the wheel while Nick just closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and leaned back into his seat.

The aura looked much better, but it was a far cry from the healthy color it had been before. It was still too dull, too gray, too lifeless.

It would need time.

So much more time.

He would shield both of them as much as possible. Nick was on leave, Grissom was spending a lot of time with his partner, and whatever came their way, Ecklie intercepted it more often than not. Right now he didn't really care what it looked like, and he really didn't get all too many strange looks. Everyone in the lab knew what had happened; everyone wanted to help.

Why not him, too?

* * *

<"Where's my guy?">  
<"Oh, so he's your guy?">

Grissom watched his partner sleep, he watched Nick sleep, he watched the Mimic sleep. One hand strayed to the sleep lax hands, touched them, felt their warmth. He looked into a face he had thought he would never see like this again; not like this and not ever in this place, his home, this town.

<"Are you two close?">

Yes, he now answered that question. Yes, we are close. Closer than two people, two lovers, could ever be. We are bound together by something far outside the normal realm.

We are life-partners, you bastard. We are one soul. And you wanted to tear us apart because of some petty revenge against the crime lab?

His anger had long since vanished, but the thoughts remained.

<"What does Nick Stokes mean to you?">

The world. He means my life. He means my love. My sanity. My everything. We are life-partners.

<"How do you feel when you see him in that coffin?">

Desperate. Helpless. Out of my mind with worry. I couldn't protect him. I thought I would by splitting us up. I thought I could trust everyone else to do it. I thought I could trust into the police at the scene to do their job. I thought I could live like this, protect him like this, protect us.

I failed.

<"Does your soul die every time you push that button?">

My soul is bound to his. We are life-partners. I suffered with him, it was my pain, too. Never physical. All emotional. All in my mind. I love him. I need him. I need Nick.

When he had gotten the call about a missing CSI, his heart had skipped a beat and he had frozen in shock.

Holly Gribbs.

It had been his first thought.

Holly had been alone at a scene and she had been shot and later died of her injuries. Now a CSI had been left alone again because the police officer at the scene had lost his stomach.

And the CSI in question had been Nick.

Grissom had never felt so unreal when walking into a crime scene, had never wanted so badly to wake up from a nightmare that wasn't one when he had seen Nick's jacket and tool kit and camera.

<"A lure… to grab Nick.">

But Nick hadn't been the target. It had been just by accident that it had been his lover and not Warrick.

The kidnapper hadn't know who Nick was, that he was Gil Grissom's life-partner and lover, that he wasn't just a criminalist, but also paranormal, a Mimic. It had been some petty revenge scheme, nothing fancy, nothing out of this world.

So simple, but yet so effective.

So clinically planned, so precise, so… perfect.

Somehow, throughout the chase, he had resigned himself to the fact that Plan B was in motion, that he would have to move fast, that Greg had to run interference, that their lives would forever be altered. He had looked at the screen where Nick was lying in that coffin, where he was fighting to stay alive, to stay sane, to protect himself from everything that had been thrown at him, and his hopes for a few more years like this, together in Las Vegas, had dwindled.

He had grasped for straws.

He had watched and waited and read the message from Nick's lips.

<"You never did.">

You never disappointed me, Nicky. Never. I love you.

But nothing had changed.

Nick was still Nick. He was still thirty-four, he was still working in Las Vegas, and no one was even mentioning Plan B.

The nightmares had been expected, as had been the change in behavior. Nick was jumpy, didn't go anywhere alone, and he had trouble with small rooms. That was getting better as the nightmare receded, as treatment healed his frazzled soul, as it soothed the frantic mind. Grissom had gone to lengths to reassure Nick that he was there, and Nick sought human contact more than ever.

Ecklie was a tremendous help. Gil had never truly understood the depth of what it meant for the former dayshift supervisor to be a shaman. He had only seen the effects and the results, but never had he thought about his abilities in such detail – and related to Nick. Conrad saw the damage done, he could touch the injured man in ways Grissom felt envious and jealous of sometimes. Not jealous as a lover; he was secure in their relationship and whatever it was the two men did out there in the desert, it healed Nick. It didn't damage him further.

Gil just wished he could help the same way. Nick was his life-partner. Nick was his charge. He had been this young criminalist's supervisor and mentor for so long, he felt protective in completely different ways.

But he had to stand back and wait.

<"Let me do this.">

In the lab he had been able to work evidence. People had stood back and let him work, had seen the fire burning behind the still so deceptively calm façade of Dr. Gil Grissom. He had lost himself in the known world of evidence.

Now he was in the rather unknown world of human emotions, of Nick's nightmares and emotional needs, and he trusted his instincts to guide him. They had been together long enough for Grissom to learn from Nick, for him to open up to the world of humanity – to Nick's world, at least – and he could be what his lover needed the most.

Himself.

Nick came to him for a different kind of help. He came to him to be held, to be protected, to just hold on when the fear struck again.

And Grissom held him.

And he loved him.

And he touched him.

He listened to the dry sobs, the heaves, the moans. He stroked the trembling body when Nick's nerves got the better of him. He touched him when he needed it, when he silently begged for it. And he whispered his love over and over.

Four weeks had passed by now. The physical wounds had healed. The ant bites had been treated and Grissom had taken care of applying the special salve to his lover's body. There had been numerous cuts, the toxins wreaking havoc on his system in the first few hours. He was fine now.

Just fine.

Healing.

Nick insisted to go back to work. He could do it. He wouldn't just sit at home and be afraid for the rest of his life. He had gone back when he had been threatened with a gun, when he had been attacked, then held at gun-point again. He was strong and Grissom knew it.

It was a strength born from deep within. Very deep. Soul-deep. It was Nick's strength. He knew it, had experienced it so often, and he knew his partner had grown so much. Whatever had been thrown at him in the last years, it had truly made him evolve and become stronger.

Grissom had called Dr. Kane, asked if it was rally okay. He had received an all-clear. He had also talked to Ecklie and the shaman had told him that yes, Nick was better, but he also needed to take it easy. No coddling, just care. The aura was regenerating, but it would need time. Ecklie would give them that time.

As for the future of their team… that would need time, too. They all had been through a lot, and it had fused them together once more. All had worked on finding Nick and no one wanted to let go again. He had seen it in Greg's eyes, the silent vow to take care of matters as an ally, but also as a friend and colleague. He had seen it with Sara, despite her problems accepting that Grissom and Nick were an item.

It had fused them together once more. It had united them against everything that had been thrown at every man and woman who had been on the original graveyard shift… and more.

Grissom realized that Ecklie had to do a lot of fancy footwork on this, but it would happen.

"I can't promise you tomorrow, Gil," he had said softly, dark eyes serious. "But I'll do everything in my power."

And he had power. He had torn them apart to protect Nick and Gil, and he would get them back together to keep that promise of protection.

Nick moved and suddenly his eyes blinked open. Dark brown, sleepy, slightly disoriented, and with a hint of confused panic. Grissom leaned over his lover, let the dark eyes take in his sight, and Nick smiled a little.

"Hey. You doin' it again?" he drawled sleepily.

"Doing what?"

"Watchin' me."

"I like to watch you."

Nick reached up, fingers tracing over the lined face, following the exhaustion probably quite visible on his features.

"You also need to sleep, Gil."

He cupped his face, his thumb rubbing over his bristly cheek.

"Sleep," Nick whispered.

Grissom lowered himself down onto the bed next to the younger man and Nick pulled him close.

"I didn't dream," he murmured.

"Good," Grissom only said.

"Is it?"

"You're coping."

And he had coped with so much. Fifteen hours waiting in a tiny room under the ground was nightmarish, but the human mind could cope. And Nick was strong. Kane had told him so. He hadn't broken the doctor-patient confidentiality, but he had reassured Gil that Nick Stokes was a very strong man and would survive this intact.

"I have help."

"We all want you to get well," was the soft reply.

Nick was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"You know," he said after a moment, "I had the weirdest dream just before you rescued me."

Grissom looked into the open eyes, the open soul. "Oh?"

"I was down in pathology. Robbins and Super-Dave were there."

Grissom frowned a little.

Nick chuckled and smoothed a line. "It was weird, really. Not scary, just weird. They were having an autopsy and I realized after a while that it was me. There was also my Dad. He wasn't really himself. It was like watching some kind of comedy show."

"A comedy?"

"Yeah. So unreal, man. So unreal and whacky."

Grissom regarded his lover, saw nothing terrified in his eyes, nothing that indicated he was disturbed by the dream.

"Oxygen deprivation does that to you," he only said.

"Guess it was that."

Nick took Grissom's right hand, pressing their palms flat together. "I could feel it, you know," he whispered.

"My hand?"

"Yes. And you. You got through to me. I was safe, I knew it back then. I saw you and you had me and you touched me, even when it was through glass at first. You were there."

Grissom leaned forward, brushing a kiss over Nick's lips. "I'd never be anywhere else, Nick. Never. I'll always have you."

The lips opened under him and Nick responded. "Thank you," he whispered roughly.

"What for?"

"Being with me."

Gil closed his eyes and poured everything he felt and wanted to say into that intimate contact. Nick's arms came around him, held him tight, pulled him closer. His fingers carded into the short hair, clenching, holding him.

"I love you, Nicky. I love you," Grissom whispered when they parted.

The dark eyes were bright with emotions, with the answer, and Nick's smile was open and real and warm.

He loved Nick.

Always. Forever.

<"I want my guys back.">

He wanted them all back, not just Nick. He wanted Catherine back, he wanted Warrick back. Whatever it took, he would do it to reunite the team, to be able to protect them as he had done before.

Grissom knew he wasn't omnipotent. No one was. But it made him feel safer, better, calmer…

It made him feel whole.  
   
 


End file.
